The High Road
by TheCurtisclan
Summary: Between stations of the Metro of Post-Apocalyptic Moscow are various bandit groups, who would kill and rob anyone who passed through their territory. One such bandit group contains a foreigner named Jacob: An Australian who was lucky enough to be in the Metro when the bombs hit. Nineteen years after the bombs hit, he is whisked into an adventure that will leave him an unknown hero.


Laughter echoed throughout the tunnel back to the two hundred meter checkpoint, causing Anatoly to sigh, and then smile slightly. He sat his double-barrelled shotgun, which he had been carefully shining with a soaked rag in his right hand, down onto the crate he'd been sitting on, and stood up, before yelling something in Russian that Jacob didn't understand up to the three hundred meter checkpoint. People would think that spending nineteen years with a group of bandits that sat just fifteen kilometres from Polis would teach Jacob at least the most basic of Russian phrases.

But no. Whenever someone would speak Russian around him, he was always guessing as to what they were talking about, like a recently deaf person reading sign language. The most he could make out of Anatoly's sentence was the word bitch, which he simply learned the pronunciation of through such frequent use of the word.

Anatoly sat back down and chuckled, slightly shaking his head, before turning back to Jacob to continue his conversation, "So, as I was saying, Australian, this guy's just lying on the floor, his hands hogtied behind his back like some sort of animal, and I kneel down to ask him what he would give us in exchange for his life, and he starts squabbling and bumbling, and he finally manages to stutter out, 'I-I-I'll do a-a-anything.'" He shook his hands, as if he were the guy in his story. Jacob sat at the edge of his seat, tapping his foot on the ground rapidly, as he often did without knowing.

"What did you ask for then?" Jacob asked, reaching for his recently boiled tea.

"What do you think? I asked him to blow me like the whore he was!" Anatoly exclaimed, slapping his knee and laughing wheezily before letting out a loud cough. Jacob took a sip from his small cup, tilting his head back a bit to skull the entire serving of tea, before slamming the cup on the table.

"What? The Vodka a little to strong for you, Australian?" Daniil questioned, swishing his bottle around, which was half-full.

"No, I just prefer to be sober when I rape my women. That way, I bloody remember it." Jacob explained, causing the pair of Russians to burst out in laughter. Before Jacob could say another word, more obnoxious laughter echoed through the metro from the three hundred meter checkpoint, causing Anatoly to sigh.

"What is happening up there?" Anatoly asked. He gestured towards Jacob to follow. "Come. Let's see what the bastards are up to. Daniil, stay here." Jacob stood up, wrapping his hand-made bow around his shoulder, and proceeded to follow Anatoly down the metro tunnels, towards the three hundred meter checkpoint. No matter how many times he traversed the dark lines that connected each of the five checkpoints leading up to the main base, whenever he walked from one to another, he always felt… isolated. Sure, he usually travelled with others, but when the only knowledge of their whereabouts was a flashlight, he always had to shine his own flashlight on his friend to make sure he was still there.

The pair stepped into the light that illuminated the three hundred meter checkpoint, where the four guards there were huddled around something in the middle of the checkpoint. One of them heard the footsteps of Jacob and Anatoly, and turned around to greet them in Russian.

"What are you guys doing, Nikolay?" Anatoly asked.

"We caught someone trying to sneak past our checkpoint," Nikolay told Anatoly, grinning. "Come see for yourself." Nikolay stood aside, and Jacob and Anatoly stepped forward. They both looked down to see a woman, who was on her knees with her hands tied behind her back and a rag stuffed into her mouth as to keep her from whining. Jacob placed his finger under her chin, and made her look him straight in the eyes. It'd been so long since he'd seen a woman, and over that time he'd learned to appreciate each and every one of them, in his own little way.

Jacob let go of the woman's chin, and ran his hands through his blonde hair. "So, you guys want to see what she has to say for herself?" Jacob asked, still examining the woman.

"Let's find out, shall we?" Nikolay replied. He knelt down in front of the woman and pulled the gag from her mouths grip. "Anything you want to say for yourself before we bring you in?"

"Glory to the Red Line!" The woman yelled.

The bandits stood there for a second, just for a second, in confusion, before one of them screamed, "Get dow-"

Jacob didn't hear the full sentence before the woman lit up and exploded, throwing Jacob back and onto the ground. He could've sworn he heard gunshots as well, but over the ringing in his ears and his blurry vision, he couldn't quite make it out. Eventually, the ringing in his ears subsided, and he regained his vision. All he heard was silence though. Turning his head to the side a little, he noticed Anatoly lying beside him, with his wide, unblinking, dead eyes, blood pouring from the bullet hole in his forehead. Jacob gasped, attempting to use his hands to push himself to his knees, but to no luck. Jacob heard a voice nearby, followed by the footsteps of several people's footsteps nearby. He felt a foot on his hip, before being pushed over onto his back. In front of him stood, from what Jacob could tell, a Red Line officer with his revolver pointed to Jacob.

Jacob barely managed to whimper, "Please, no."

The officer tilted his head in confusion, before another officer stepped in front of him and said to Jacob, "You are not Russian, are you?"

"N-no," Jacob said, in a quivering voice, "I'm Australian."

"Interesting. You don't have to worry, bro," The officer explained. He turned to the other officer and said something in Russian to him. The other officer stepped forward, knelt down on his knee, and examined Jacob, looking him up and down, before standing up and nodding to his fellow officer.

"Well then," The English-speaking officer said, "Looks like I just saved your life!" He offered his hand to Jacob, who gratefully took the officers hand and stood up with an audible grunt, still slightly injured from the explosion.

"How'd you do that?" Jacob asked.

"By saying that you'd be willing to join us, and I could train you to become my own little trainee communist! You think you'd be up for that?"

"Why would you do something like this?"

"Partly because we could use someone that _isn't_ Russian in the Red Line, but mostly because I find your accent fucking ridiculous!" The officer laughed. "So, anyway, what's your name, Australian?"

"Jacob. What about you, mate?"

"Name's Pavel. _Major _Pavel Igorevich Morozov to you, recruit," Pavel gave Jacob a pat on the back, "and welcome to the Red Line."


End file.
